"LAST SCENE OF ALL, THAT ENDS THIS STRANGE, EVENTFUL HISTORY."
"Jack."
"Yes, father."
"What do you think you are going to be? I mean what business or
profession?"
This conversation took place about a week after their return to
England.
"Would you like to be a doctor or a lawyer, or become a great financier
in the City?" continued Harkaway senior.
"Neither of those, thank you. I have been too much used to plenty of
fresh air and exercise to settle down to an indoor occupation; the sea
is my choice."
"It is not your mother's choice, so you may just give up that notion at
once and for ever."
"Well, next to that I should like to have a nice compact farm of about
six hundred acres in a part of the country where there is good
shooting, hunting and fishing."
"Ah, that's better."
"Then we'll consider that settled, dad."
"Yes; but you must finish your education first; that has been much
neglected."
So the result was that both young Jack and Harry Girdwood were sent to
reside for a year with a clergyman, who was also a farmer, and, who
undertook, while improving their general education, to give them a
practical knowledge of agriculture.
* * * *
The year passed away, and the two young men returned home for a brief
holiday before settling down, for Harry was also to be a farmer, Dick
Harvey having undertaken to put him into a farm.
They were sitting at breakfast one morning when two letters were
brought, both with foreign postmarks.
Harkaway senior opened them.
"This concerns you, my dear," said he to Paquita.
"How so?" asked the girl.
"It is from your father. And you must prepare to hear bad news."
"He is dead! he is dead!" she exclaimed, bursting into tears.
When some time had passed, she was calmed sufficiently to hear the
letter read.
It was a deathbed letter, in which the writer stated that, remembering
the noblehearted Englishman, Harkaway, he appointed him sole trustee of
his wealth, to be given as a marriage portion to Paquita.
Documents were enclosed to put Harkaway in possession of the writer's
riches and he concluded by praying Heaven to bless his daughter.
A postscript was added in a different hand.
"The writer of this died on the 4th of April last, the day after he
signed this letter and the enclosed documents which are witnessed
by me."
"ANTONIO DELAVAT, Surgeon."
Paquita's grief at the death of her father was great, but in little
Emily and Mrs. Harkaway she found two comforters who did their best to
assuage her sorrows.
* * * *
But the other letter.
"Why, this is from our old Australian friend, Rook!" exclaimed
Harkaway.
"Rook!"
"Yes. And this is what Rook has to say for himself.
"'If ever a man had reason to be grateful to another, surely I have
cause to bless the day I met you. For thanks to you, I am no longer an
outcast, but have atoned for the past--aye, and refunded with interest
that sum of money which was the cause of my being sent here. Through
your kindness I was enabled to go into business as a farmer, and I have
prospered so that I am now one of the richest men in this part of
Australia; but I owe all my prosperity to you, so I will not boast of
it. Being better educated than many of the settlers, I have been
appointed magistrate for the district; but whenever I can be lenient
without being unjust, I humble myself, remember what I once was, and
try to give the culprit another chance. Heaven has greatly prospered
me, and I pray that Heaven's blessings may rest on you and yours.'"
"Bravo, Rook!" said Harvey and Harry Girdwood.
* * * *
"What are you thinking about, Jack!" asked Harry, a day or two after.
"About old Mole."
"What about him?"
"Why, we haven't had a good lark with him since we left Marseilles."
"True."
"The old man will get rusty if we don't wake him up a little."
"Well, what is your idea?"
"Haven't any at the present; but something will turn up."
And something did turn up that very day.
Now it should be known that Mole, although he passed the greater time
with his old friends, had taken a small cottage close by so that he
might not entirely wear out their hospitality.
He generally slept there, but spent his days with the Harkaways.
Jack and Harry called upon the old man, and were admitted to his
presence, as he was putting the finishing touches to his toilet.
This consisted in anointing his bald head with some wonderful fluid,
warranted to produce a luxuriant growth of hair.
This gave the youths an idea, and having invited him to dinner, they
departed to carry out their joke.
All passed off pleasantly during the evening, but Jack and Harry were
absent about an hour. During that time they procured access to Mole's
premises, and having emptied his bottle of hair restorer, filled the
phial with liquid glue, after which they returned to the house.
"I must go early," said Mr. Mole, rising. "I have to attend court as a
juryman in the morning."
"Then you won't be able to dress your hair properly," said Jack.
"Oh, yes; I shall put on a good dose before I leave home, that will
last till evening," replied Mole.
He went home, but overslept himself, and had to dress in a hurry.
Mole had got to the door, when he remembered the hair restorer, and
going back, applied a plentiful dose with a sponge.
He reached the court very hot.
By that time the glue had set, and he found he could not remove his
hat.
"Isaac Mole!" shouted the official who was calling the jury.
"Here!" replied Mole, as he rushed to the box.
A murmur of astonishment was heard.
"Hats off in court!" shouted the usher.
"Really, I----"
"Everyone must be uncovered in court."
"But, I assure you, I can't----"
"Are you a Quaker?" demanded the judge.
"No; but I wish to explain that I kept my hat on because----"
"I can not listen to any excuse except the one I mentioned. Take off
your hat instantly."
"But I say I kept it on because----"
"This is intolerable. Do you mean to insult the court! Take your hat
off instantly, or I will fine you for contempt."
"Well, I must say it's hard I can't say a word."
"You are fined five pounds, and if you don't remove your hat----"
"I want to explain."
"Officer, remove that man's hat."
The tipstaff approached Mole and hit the offending hat with his stick,
but it did not move.
Then he struck it harder, and the crown went in.
"This is too bad!" screamed Mole.
But the tipstaff was wroth, and picking up a large law book smashed it
flat.
This was too much for Mole.
"You mutton-headed idiot, if you and the judge had a particle of sense,
you would know that I did not remove my hat, because I couldn't. It is
glued on."
Mole, however, was led away in custody and a fresh juryman sworn.
But Jack and Harry, who had been highly amused spectators, thought the
joke had gone far enough, so they tipped a solicitor through whom an
explanation was made, and Mole was released. He also got off serving on
the jury.
They left the court together.
But another surprise was in store for them.
"How are you, gentlemen?" said a very familiar voice, and, lo! Figgins
the orphan stood before them.
Figgins had not remained in Marseilles like the others, and therefore,
had escaped being arrested for counterfeit coining.
He reached London in safety, and having taken the upper part of a house
within half a mile of St. Paul's Cathedral, resolved never more to
trust himself beyond the City boundaries.
Yet, in his retirement, his conscience pricked him for having left so
hurriedly the friends who had rescued him from many a danger.
And Mole, too, his own particular travelling companion.
"I must go and see him once more," thought the orphan.
So one fine day he plucked up courage to venture a short journey on an
English railway, and knowing where the elder Harkaway lived, was
speedily instructed how to find Mole.
So now behold him shaking hands all round.
"I thought I must see you once more," said he, "but it is a great
undertaking, you know, for my travels made me more timid than ever I
was."
"Timid?" ejaculated Mole; "why, on one or two occasions you displayed
bravery almost equal to my own."
"Mildly, Mr. Mole," said Jack.
"Ah, Mr. Harkaway, you three gentlemen are brave men, but I am only a
poor timid orphan."
"That need not make you timid."
"But it does. So I have resolved never to trust myself out of London
again."
"Then I am afraid we shall not meet very often, Mr. Figgins," said
Mole, "for I, you know, hate town life."
"If you do come to town, though, you will call?"
"Certainly."
"Then, gentlemen, I will wish you farewell. I am deeply grateful for
all you did when we were abroad----"
"Don't mention it."
"Mr. Mole, farewell. You know I feel more like an orphan than ever now
I am parting from you."
"Don't talk like that, Figgins," said Mole.
"I can't help it, indeed, I can't. Farewell, my dear friend, farewell!"
And Figgins retired to his City home, where he still lives, though he
is getting very feeble.
Still, he brightens up whenever he speaks of his old friend and
travelling companion, Mole.
* * * *
It is hard to part with old friends, but the decrees of fate cannot be
avoided, so we must conclude our story.
It will be hardly necessary, we fancy, to inform our readers that young
Jack eventually married little Emily, and Harry Girdwood led Paquita to
the altar.
And as weddings are very much alike, we will not describe the ceremony,
but content ourselves with saying that as much happiness as this world
can afford was and is theirs.
Jack and Harry have extensive farms near each other, and are wealthy
country gentlemen.
They are fond of outdoor sports, and have recently established a pack
of harriers, Tinker and Bogey being respectively first and second
whips. In each establishment there was formerly a room kept always
ready for Mr. Mole, who went from one to the other as it pleased him,
sure of a hearty welcome always.
But, alas! poor Mole is now no more.
Age preyed on his shaken body, and at length laid him on his deathbed.
Even then he could not help referring to the matrimonial portion of his
life.
"I have been too much married, Jack. I am 'a wictim to connubiality,'
if I may be allowed to quote Sam Weller; but never again, dear boy."
And when only half conscious, he would repeat--"Never again, dear boy,"
expressing his firm determination not to marry again.
Poor Mole!
After all, he ended his days in peace, and died regretted by all his
friends, who, if they had laughed at his failings, also remembered his
kindly disposition.
He left behind him sufficient of this world's goods to enable his
faithful Chloe to give the twins a good education.
They are now rollicking schoolboys, but will have a fair start when
their guardians, Jack and Harry, fancy they are fitted to begin their
battle with life.
* * * *
Old Jack--he is getting old now--lives with Emily not far from his son,
and with them, of course, is Dick Harvey.
Often on a fine day Old Jack will lead his grandchildren to the village
churchyard, and while the youngsters deck poor old Mole's grave with
flowers, will relate to them the best incidents of the old man's life.
Not far from poor Mole's grave is another tomb, in which rest the
earthly remains of Monday, Prince of Limbi, who had grown grey in the
service of Mr. Harkaway.
A much severer winter than usual laid the seeds of a complaint which
speedily carried him off.
Sunday, whose head is fast becoming white as snow, took his death much
to heart, and even now frequently strolls into the quiet churchyard to
indulge in pensive recollections of his old friend by the side of his
grave--aye, and perchance to reflect on his own end, which he knows
full well must be fast approaching.
Monday had been thrifty, and when the days of mourning were over, his
widow retired to Oxford to pass the remainder of her days with many
good presents from Jack Harkaway, given in remembrance of his faithful
servant Monday, the Prince of Limbi.
* * * *
Readers, our tale is told; and we leave Harkaway to the repose he has
so well earned.
But if you would prosper as he has done, be like him, truthful, brave,
and generous.
In bringing to a conclusion the long series of Harkaway stories, Mr.
Edwin J. Brett cannot let the occasion pass without thanking the
readers for the patience with which they have followed the hero's
career, and the praise they have always bestowed upon the story or
stories.
To invent the plot and incidents has been a labour of love on the part
of Mr. E. J. Brett, and it seems now like parting from old and intimate
friends, to say adieu to all the characters whose lives have been the
subject of the story. But there must be an end to all things, even to
Harkaway.
THE END.